A Crash, a Screech, a Stop
by chimingofthebells
Summary: A second later he realized that the metal on metal wasn't swords clashing at all. It was the sound of the hood folding and connecting with the windshield. The screech wasn't coming from a dragon, it was coming from the tires as they skidded and the car spun off the road.


Merlin heard the sound of metal on metal, the long, loud screech of a dragon, and he thought _no, not again…_

A second later he realized that the metal on metal wasn't swords clashing at all. It was the sound of the hood folding and connecting with the windshield. The screech wasn't coming from a dragon, it was coming from the tires as they skidded and the car spun off the road.

_Arthur _was Merlin's last thought before he blacked out, and _Arthur _was his first thought when he came to.

He turned his head, wincing at the pain that flared in his chest as he did so, and saw Arthur in the passenger seat, head resting against his chest and covered in blood.

_No, _Merlin said, or thought, because this was not supposed to happen, it could not happen. No, no, Arthur had only just come home, he had only just come back to Merlin after all these years. He couldn't be taken away like this, not when Merlin had spent two thousand years waiting for Arthur to live.

He reached a shaking hand to touch Arthur's face. Arthur didn't respond to the touch. Merlin steadied his hand to press against Arthur's throat, hoping, praying to find a pulse.

There wasn't one.

There was so much blood that Merlin couldn't tell where it was coming from, but it was running down Arthur's face and staining his shirt and pooling around the seat where he sat.

Merlin reached for him, unbuckling himself in order to get closer. He held Arthur's face in his hands, shook him lightly, because no, this couldn't happen, he couldn't be dead already.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered, "Arthur!"

The tears started to fall as Merlin wiped the blood off of Arthur's face, smearing it down his cheeks and getting it all over Merlin's own hands. He noticed that there were fragments of glass resting on Arthur's chest and lap, and pieces were stuck in his hair, and one was embedded in Arthur's cheekbone. Merlin wiped those away too, uncaring of the cuts they produced in his hands. They didn't belong on Arthur.

"No," Merlin said, threading his fingers through Arthur's hair, gold stained with red. He closed his eyes and reached deep inside himself, pulled from every dark corner of his being, wrenched free everything he had, and pushed it away. It flowed through his fingers and into Arthur and Merlin let himself feel, through his desperation, a little bit of hope.

When he had given everything he had, Merlin opened his eyes. He held his breath, blinking away the tears that were blurring his vision.

A minute went by, then another. Arthur still hadn't moved.

"Arthur," Merlin sobbed, because he couldn't think of what else to say. What else could he do?

He lowered himself and pressed himself against the side of Arthur's neck, wrapped his arms around Arthur's torso, and cried.

He had tried so hard, waited so long for Arthur to return to him. He had spent so many lonely nights waiting for his king, spent his days filling his head with knowledge, learning as much as he could so that Arthur would have someone to help and guide him on the day he returned.

The years and decades and centuries were long and agonizing, but Merlin had thought it would be worth it, if only for Arthur. He had worked so hard and done so much so that he might serve Arthur again.

What was he to do now?

Over the sound of Merlin's sobs, the wail of a siren got louder and louder until he could hear an ambulance coming to a halt and rushed footsteps approaching.

Merlin didn't move as someone's head appeared through the broken windshield.

"There's two in here," someone said, "Front seat, nobody in the back."

Merlin heaved another sob.

"Shit!" Said the paramedic, "One of them is still alive!"

There was some shouting, and then the door was wrenched open and somebody was trying to pull Merlin away.

"No," Merlin whimpered, "No, no, no…" He clung tighter to Arthur's body.

"Sir, you've been injured, we need to look at you."

Someone had opened the other door and was pulling Arthur away too. His body was too limp, too unresponsive. It was just like he had been when Merlin had had to drag him onto the boat and send him to Avalon.

Suddenly Merlin became aware of the pain in his own body. There was something screaming in his chest, his leg was one mass of agony beneath him.

Merlin screamed.

He watched as Arthur was dragged one way and Merlin another, rushed to stretchers and groups of people in bright yellow vests. His eyes never left Arthur, desperately searching for a sign of life that the doctors might be able to bring back.

But then somebody said "alright, call it," and Merlin's heart shattered all over again.

Arthur was dead. Arthur was gone and he would never come back, not this time. There would be no rising again.

Arthur had been called from Avalon because the world was sick and torn apart by war, and it was his duty to unite it and lead it again into glory. Arthur had had a purpose which he had not yet fulfilled. Arthur's duty was to protect Albion, and Merlin's duty was to protect Arthur. Merlin was supposed to be the one to guide Arthur through this time and be by his side when the new world was created.

But Merlin had failed. Arthur never had the chance to save Albion because Merlin had failed to protect him. Worse, Merlin had been at the wheel when they crashed, so it was his fault, it was all his own fault that Arthur was dead.

"Arthur," Merlin croaked out. Arthur was being placed in a white bag, and Merlin reached his hand out, desperate to see Arthur's face one last time.

"Don't worry about him," Someone said, "Focus on yourself right now, you're lucky you're still alive."

No.

"Arthur."

"He's gone, sweetheart."

"Arthur!"

"Sir!"

Merlin roared and sat up, swinging his arms to throw the paramedics off of him even as they were injecting painkillers into his arms and bandaging his leg. As they fell back, more rushed forward, pushing at Merlin's chest and trying to force him to lie down.

"Sir, you need medical attention, sir there's nothing you can do for him, you need to sit down-"

"No!" Merlin screamed, thrashing and fighting against the people holding him down. He had to get away, he couldn't let these people save his life.

Arthur was gone, there was no reason for Merlin to live anymore. His one and only purpose was gone. He had hoped, in all the years he had spent waiting, that when Arthur had returned and done what he was meant to do, that Merlin would be able to die in peace with Arthur at his side, safe in the knowledge that he had done his duty and loved Arthur as he was meant to. That was all gone now.

"Let me go," Merlin snarled.

"You'll bleed out," someone said, "You've got several broken ribs and your leg is nearly falling off of you, if we don't get you to hospital straight away you're going to die here in the street."

"_Then let me die!" _Merlin screamed.

The white bag that contained Arthur's body was being wheeled into the ambulance and out of Merlin's sight.

"Let me die," Merlin repeated, "Please, please, just let me go, Arthur is dead, Arthur's dead, he's dead…"

Merlin writhed and struggled and reached out one last time to where Arthur's body had gone.

"Arthur…"

Then a needle was jammed into the side of Merlin's neck, and his world went black.


End file.
